Stay
by am4ever
Summary: *Post Season 8, Ep 6* Focusing on a story line that has not yet gotten much air time... What will the outcome be for Assistant Director Granger?


**I own neither character! All rights go to Shane Brennan and the fabulous writers of NCIS LA

Story Set a few months following Season 8, Episode 6**

* * *

"Now, I think that should be everything you may need," Hetty said, looking over the table lined with pill bottles, glasses and other various medical supplies.

She glanced over and saw that he hadn't responded, his hands gripping the edge of the bed to keep him upright, his chin dropped on to his chest. She exhaled slowly and fought back the welling emotions at seeing him in such a depressive state.

"But I'm right across the hall...if there's anything..." she continued, watching him carefully.

Still nothing.

Sighing softly, she took a few steps forward and gently squeezed his arm. She knew this was not how he wanted to be seen by anyone and it would take time for him to open up. So she would wait...wait until he told her what he needed. And she swore to herself that she would be there...no matter what the cost.

"Good night, Owen. Get some rest," she whispered.

Making it to the door, she put her hand on the knob and fought with whether or not to turn back around. If only he would tell her what he needed! But she knew it would only frustrate him more if she pushed. So, letting out a slow breath, she opened the door to move to her own room for the night.

"Henrietta..."

Quickly turning, her eyes softened at seeing the pained expression crossing the face of the normally strong, self-sufficient Assistant Director.

"Yes?"

He was silent for a moment, merely staring at her with a look that pierced through her well-built emotional walls. His grip on the bed tightened as he looked down again, clearing his throat painfully and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"Owen..." she began, moving forward a few steps.

"Stay."

She stopped in her tracks, not sure she'd heard him correctly. But when he looked up and met her wide eyes, she saw that he needed her now more than ever before.

"Please...stay," he whispered, his voice cracking from the harsh treatments he'd undergone.

He didn't need to speak another word. Crossing back to the door, she shut it gently and flipped the light switch down. He watched silently as she moved to the other side of the room and took off her robe, throwing it on the window seat.

He actually smiled, seeing that she was dressed in flannel pajamas. It was the middle of June in Los Angelos and she was wearing flannel pajamas. The woman was always cold...no doubt about it. But now it worked to his favor...for he now had a constant chill he wasn't able to shake.

Thinking of doctors caused him to shiver unknowingly, resulting in another harsh and painful cough. He gripped the edge of the bed and tried to keep upright. But the hot, sharp pain in his chest kept getting worse with each cough and made it difficult to breathe.

"Here...try to take some deep breaths..." he heard a moment later as a small hand came to rest on his back and another put a cloth with a strange, yet pleasant scent over his nose and mouth.

Within moments, he felt as though his lungs had cleared, and he could breathe normally. Slowly, Hetty took the cloth away but remained by his side, her hand still on his back to support his weak frame.

"Any better?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "What is...?"

"A mix of oils...they should help open up your lungs," she answered. "Would you like any pain...?"

He shook his head forcefully.

"Owen...you do not have to do this one your own," she said. "Being in pain will not..."

He reached over and grasped her hand, cutting her off. Turning to face her, he said softly, "Not tonight. They...make my stomach turn over...do more harm than good."

Now understanding, she closed her eyes briefly and shook her head gently. "Owen...I'm sorry...I didn't realize..."

"Just stay...and I'll be fine," he replied, squeezing her hand and offering a small smile.

She nodded, letting go of his hand to stand. "Come now, let's get you settled."

She moved over and fluffed up a few pillows by the headboard. He watched her closely, noticing just how much care she took to place the pillows in a way that would allow him to recline and keep his airway open throughout the night. She turned, finding he was staring at her.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said softly, casting his eyes downward. "Thank you...for helping me."

"Nonsense. I wouldn't have it any other way. Come on now..."

Reaching down, she helped him lift his weary legs up on the bed. He groaned softly as his aching body shifted. Hetty quickly moved to help him lie back against the pillows, placing both her hands on his upper arms to guide him. She let out a silent, grateful sigh that he had, at last, a few moments of relief from the constant pain once his body relaxed in to the cushions.

"Good?" she asked.

"Yea...good," he answered quietly.

She pulled the blankets up to his chest and then turned out the lamp on his night stand. As she was about to head towards the window seat, he grabbed her arm.

"Henrietta...stay," he said, his voice having gained a bit of strength.

"I am, Owen," she reassured, reaching up to take his hand in hers. "I'll be right over..."

"No, not over there..." he said, clearly frustrated. "I want...I need you to..."

Sighing, he allowed himself to fall back against the cushions, a small grimace accompanying the movement. She wanted to help him, truly. But she didn't know what he wanted from her! He had asked her to stay and so of course she would stay to make sure he had a restful night. But now...she was thoroughly confused as to what he was wanting from her...

"I'm happy to help in whatever way I can, Owen," she began cautiously, "but you must tell me what it is you need. I'm afraid I haven't developed the talent for mental telepathy yet...though I am working on it."

He smirked, grateful she was able to lighten the mood when he was feeling so down. He looked over and found her with a small, sly grin on her face.

"Funny, the team thinks you are all-knowing," he replied.

"Shows just how much you still have to teach them," she answered, patting his arm.

Of that, he wasn't sure. He didn't even know if he would survive to see any of the team again...not unless they came to visit him. And he had things to teach them? Clearly the only thing he could advise them on was to live their lives better than he had...to not put themselves in a position where they would one day be lying in bed, dying from a disease brought on by a life of bad choices.

The depressing thoughts began to overwhelm him once more. And while he tried to hold in his emotions, that action resulted in a few hard, grating coughs that had him wishing death would come sooner than later. Hetty hurried to put the cloth with oils over his mouth again, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance as she reminded him to take in deep breaths.

When the coughing subsided, she offered him some water which he took only a few sips of. Tiredly, his head fell back to the pillow as the dull ache in his chest began to infiltrate throughout the rest of his body.

"Here, take this..." Hetty directed, putting a pill in his hand.

"I don't..."

"You will be asleep before the nausea has time to set in," she interrupted. "I will not see you in this amount of pain if there is something to be done about it. And tomorrow morning, I will call the doctor and see what can be prescribed to help with the side effects of the pain medication."

Begrudgingly, he slipped the pill under his tongue and took another sip of water. She smiled warmly at him, thanking him softly.

"It will help you feel better, Owen. Just try to relax and get some rest now," she said, adjusting his blankets.

His hand grabbed her arm once more before she could move away.

"Owen...I won't leave," she promised, turning back to face him.

"I know..." he replied. He looked over at the other side of the bed but kept hold of her arm.

"Then what is it?"

"Stay...right here...with me..." he answered, his face turning back to meet hers. She saw the exhaustion, the resignation and perhaps the welling of tears in his glassy eyes. Her breath hitched, understanding now what he meant, but not knowing whether or not she could...

"Owen...I..."

"Henrietta...you and I both know I will not beg...but I can't...I can't do this alone."

His voice was strained, having been used too much today and abused by the latest radiation treatment. Never had she seen him in such a state...not even during their darkest days in the CIA together. And those times had been horrendous. Her own emotions began to rise as she stepped forward, leaning down to softly kiss his thin cheek.

"You won't have to," she whispered, squeezing his arm.

She quickly moved to the other side of the bed and turned off the lamp. Darkness enveloped the pair as Hetty quietly climbed in to the large bed. She did not wish to disturb him, nor to cause him any pain, so she limited her movements as much as possible. She easily slipped her feet under the covers and pulled the blankets up over her legs.

Turning, she saw Owen looking at her, the worry lines across his forehead now gone. She reached over and pulled the blanket up to cover his chest.

"There now. Better?" she asked.

He nodded. "Thank you, Henrietta."

"Get some sleep, Owen. I'll be right here if you need anything," she said, lying down and pulling the covers up to her shoulders.

Silence fell over the room, albeit for the sound of Owen's raspy breathing. Hetty listened intently, wanting to make sure he was breathing steady and at a normal pace. She was about to look at her watch to count how many breaths he took in a minute when she felt a warm hand encompass hers. Looking over, she saw that Owen was awake and smiling at her.

"Go to sleep, Henrietta."

"Not before you," she replied, squeezing his hand gently. She tried to pull it away, but he held on tight.

"Just stay, Henrietta...stay," he said, his eyes closing in exhaustion.

And so she kept hold of his hand, rolling over so she could look at him. He seemed peaceful, his breathing easier and his face devoid of any pain. In that moment, she decided to throw off her title of Operations Manager and simply be the Henrietta Lange that Owen Granger needed her to be. A friend...a caregiver...perhaps something more? No matter what, she determined she would stay...no matter what the cost.


End file.
